Restday, 10 Charlatos 5119

She sat with her head back toward the torrent, hoping childishly that the rain would wash away what her healing spells could not. The fire burning beside her offered meager warmth, and even more meager light, as it too struggled to continue.

“What if it is not the rain ...”

Rolling the tension from her shoulders she dropped her head finally, letting the hood of her jacket provide what shelter it could as she looked down at the polished circle of opal resting in her palm.

“Unbalanced waters can never still.”

The winds shifted, blowing the rain sideways as the surf to her right tossed up, threatening to wash over the jetty underneath her. She clutched the opal in her hand and drew back, using the firepit beside her as a wind break as she dug a brush and small pot of silvery ink from her satchel. The scars on her cheeks still burned, though she was pretty sure the pain was phantom. Visions were one thing, being bodily taken over was another.

“Same attracts same.”

She drew the opal closer to the waning light of the fire, dipped her brush in the ink and traced a familiar rune unto its surface. Just like Grandmother taught.

“Seek the meek.”

Her eyes closed briefly, shutting out her senses as she reached outward and clutched the newly made runestone in her hand, calling. She saw it’s eyes first, deep sapphire like the still waters of the Saewehna lagoon, considering her with curiosity. The rest of it's form coalesced as it drew nearer, swirling tendrils of water with a constant wispiness, as if ready to return to it's natural state at any moment.

“Is he making you cry?” She asked gently, peering at the spirit. It looked back at her with a concerned expression, not understanding her question. With a sigh she tucked the runestone into her pocket and pushed herself to her feet, pausing to pick up a smooth, round stone the surf had deposited onto the jetty as she did. The spirit trailed after her, moving to hover over her opposite shoulder to inspect what new prize had been found.

“You know …” Who cared if the spirit couldn’t understand her words. Words were the purview of the permanently corporeal, but they were the easiest path to properly communicate her emotions. “The Warden sent us here, to gather ‘stones of the sea, but not of Caligos.', to building the warding stones.” She extended her hand toward the spirit, showing the stone in her palm before she pulled her arm back and sent it skipping out across the still, harborside waters off the jetty. “I don’t know that we did any lasting good on that island…”

She paused, glancing to the side to find her spirit friend hovering close, another round stone extended toward her in offering. “Thank you.” She smiled softly, accepted the gift and then continued, “… but the Isle of Four Winds was able to heal a bit of Caligos. I feel as if I owe it. If only I had any idea what was going on. Who are the Fallen? The Flock, the Forlorn? And who in their right mind would count on me to ... prevent it."

The gifted stone found itself skipping over the waters with more force than the last. As she took a step back she found the spirit waited beside her with another skipping stone, the expression in the swirling whirlpools of it’s face almost eager. She accepted the gift, it would be rude not to, but gave a grateful bow of her head and allowed her hands to rest on the cool waters of the spirit's as she returned it.

Her voice dropped, “I am a Little Rose to one mist filled isle, and a Little Bird to another, apparently. But I haven’t any idea how to heal either of them …”

With a deep sigh she pulled the hood of her jacket up farther to hide the scars lacing her cheeks and turned to make her way ashore, an ocean spirit clutching a gifted stone to it’s chest trailing close behind.